


a wild meatball appears

by mallory



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Musician!Reader, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: You’re doing an Instagram Live chat with your fans when a certain someone walks into frame.





	a wild meatball appears

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bridgit Mendler’s Facebook live video (April 2017) and Selena Gomez’s Instagram live video (August 2018).
> 
> Cross-posted from tumblr under forevans (i.e. me) because it’s being a butthead so. Divorce.
> 
> Edited: 8/9/18.

With your tablet propped and ready in front of you, you tap the screen to start the video in the Instagram app. Your messy hair and wide, bright eyes flood the screen, above which reads twelve viewers (and counting). You smile into the camera as a series of hearts start floating up the screen. “Hi guys! It’s me. Welcome to my live chat. Umm...”

You glance out into your vivid backyard. The late morning light glistens off the gorgeous blue of the pool, and a puddle of purple from the big Jacaranda tree in the middle of the yard break up the stretch of lush green grass. When the wind blows in your direction, you can faintly smell the sweet, smoky flowers. “It’s a beautiful day, so I’m out on the deck behind my house. If, uh—If my neighbour happens to look over, they’ll probably think I’m a loser sitting alone and talking to myself. Not for the first time. But um—” You break off with a chuckle, shaking your head. “But I wanna talk with you guys so send in your questions.”

You take a sip of your morning beverage, privately read the supportive comments from the people in your team, and answer the comments from your fans that come through:

“Thanks for the love, Caden.”

“‘Frank Ocean collab!’ And I am one hundred percent behind that. I’m a huge fan of his work. Such a fantastic artist—it’d be an awesome project.”

“My day is wonderful, thank you, Lee. How’s yours?"

“Juanita is learning how to play the guitar because of me—Aw, that’s so sweet.”

“Am I working on new music? The answer is yes, I am. Oh my god, you guys, I can’t wait for you to hear what I’ve been working on. I’m so excited. I’ve been writing a lot since the last album and it’s, uh… it’s been such a fun process. I’ve been working with some great producers an—”

A muted plop on the wooden table breaks your concentration and you find yourself staring at what looks like bird shit in the middle of the patio table. “Oh crap. A bird just dropped a douce.” You squint up at the clear blue sky. “Thanks for that, buddy.

“Um, what was I saying? Lost my train of thought. Anyway, next question!”

You’re scrolling through the comments for another question when a hand cups your cheek and lifts your head. A sound of surprise escapes you as prickly, coffee-flavoured lips hum against yours. You push him away with a hand on his chin. “Chris,” you say on a snicker. “We’re live.”

“Oh fuck—I mean fudge!” Chris looks at the screen; at your amused face beside his sheepish one. “Fudge. Sorry, sorry.” He turns to you and grimaces.

“Chris Evans, everyone.” You pat his morning stubbled-cheek, and despite crashing your live chat, he can’t resist booping your noses together, before he takes the seat opposite you. “Are you joining us?”

He takes a sip from his mug and settles in with his phone. “All you, babe.”

The comments are  _flooding_  in now—‘Oh my god is that Chris evans 😍😍’, ‘you guys re so cute!’, ‘I LOVE YOU CHRIS!!!’

You try to find a question related to you among a stream of people freaking out. “‘What does your t-shirt say?’” You stretch your legs out under the table, straightening your back, and pull out the bottom of your shirt to show them the shirt that Robert gave you to taunt Chris during the Civil War era. “It says ‘Team Iron Man.’ Courtesy of RDJ.” You only wear it for bed, but it spends more time on the floor of your bedroom than on you.

Something brushes your ankles, and you flick your gaze to Chris, who’s tapping away on his phone.

“‘When are you releasing new music?’ I can only tell you that it’s soon. But not  _too_  soon. Um…” The top of his foot hooks around the back of your ankle, and you bite your lip to contain your smile. “Yeah, all the songs are recorded and now we’re just putting the final touches on it.

“‘Which song on the new album is your favorite?’ Just one?” You puff out your cheeks. Out of the fourteen songs into which you painstakingly poured your heart and soul, how could you pick just one? Your gaze drifts over to your partner. “I might get in trouble if I tell you. Chris, which—”

“‘At Last.’” His elbows are leaning on the table, hands cupping his mug.

(His nose scrunches at the bird poop beside his arm, and he opens the patio umbrella to provide you with more shade against the blazing sun.)

You’re not sure if they heard him, but you don’t repeat the (maybe) title. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Of course he likes that one; it’s about him. Or, more specifically, you  _and_  him. “It’s a quiet, happy song about”—your rest your chin in the palm of your hand—“two people… who love each other. And that feeling you get.”

“That feeling,” he echoes softly around a smile, and you quietly collect the way he’s looking at you in this moment to forever carry in your chest.

There’s a warm flutter in your stomach because he looks so sweet and adorable, but you can’t give into the temptation to kiss him silly right now. Pursing your lips, you return to the tablet.

_Concentrate._

“I’d love to go back to Brazil. I want to go everywhere, wherever you guys are.”

“Oh my god, remember Iguaçu Falls?” Chris asks. “That was stunning.”

“Oh, Iguaçu Falls.” You smile. You, Chris and your crew walked along the boardwalk, and though you could barely hear anything over the deafening roar of the water, the view was breathtaking. “Chris said it was stunning, and it really was.

“Oh look, Chris Hemsworth’s joined us—hey dude! He says to come back to Australia, with a lot of exclamation points, so I guess he’s real passionate about that.”

“The beaches are beautiful,” your Chris says.

“Evans loves the Aussie beaches. He’s gotten a lot better at surfing.” You laugh. “Hemsworth says I should leave Evans at home next time.”

You have a hard time reading questions because a slew of other comments keep pushing them up before you’re done, but one in particular catches your eye: “‘What do you love about Chris?’ Um, he makes me laugh, and he’s the kindest and most generous person I know.”

“Aw.” He smiles, and you love that a blush crawls up his neck even all this time.

“Amir has a question for you, babe.” You move the tablet around so you both can be on screen. “‘Is Chris ever going to be on your album?’”

“You mean showcase my amazingly basic guitar skills?”

“You could play the piano.” You fell in love watching him play in his parents’ living room the weekend he brought you home to meet the family. It sends your heart aflutter every time you hear him messing around on the baby grand in your music room.

“I haven’t played in a while! I’m rusty.”

“You could sing.”

“People don’t want to hear that.” The comments say different.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

He scrunches his face. “I sound like a dying whale compared to you. I think I’ll leave the singing to the professional in the relationship.”

“You’re an actor, right? You could  _act_  like a professional.”

He laughs and leans forward on his forearms. “Did you just talk smack?”

You mirror his pose with a smirk, bringing your faces closer together. “And if I did?”

He squints, and you just  _know_  he’s trying to think of a response more appropriate in front of your audience. Instead, he reaches out and pinches your nose. You laugh in surprise, but it comes out more like a snort.

As he guffaws, you circle your fingers around his wrist and pull away from his grasp. Before you let go of him, he draws forward and laughingly kisses your hand. At the display of affection and the mirthful fondness softening his eyes, you push at his shoulder and pull back.

You clear your throat, and the screen reveals your bashful face and Chris looking at you with a small smile, and a stream of emojis in reaction to your little moment.

You turn the tablet around and spend the next several minutes answering more questions while he alternates between looking at you and down at his phone. Sometimes your gazes catch and you have to remind yourself that you’re live, and so you try to tear your eyes away without it being obvious that you were just gawking.

“Shantel is requesting I improvise a song. Should I?”

“Oh  _heck_  yes,” comes Chris’ enthusiastic reply. Before you can even agree, he bounces off to the music room and comes back with a melodica you found at a dollar store in Florence.

Through your laughter, you say, “Not that! I can’t sing and play at the same time.” He loves to make jokes whenever he sees you messing around with that instrument. It usually ends with you laughing so hard you can’t even play a note.

With a cheeky grin, he pulls a ukulele from behind his back.

As you start tuning it, you ask for word suggestions from your viewers. Chris throws in a couple of his own, and by the time you’ve worked out your simple four-chord progression in the key of C, you’ve chosen flip-flop, pug, drunk and light.

In your career so far, you’ve performed on live TV at popular award shows, and in front of an average crowd of fifteen thousand in your last headlining tour, but this—right here in your backyard with Chris for company? You’re just as nervous.

Behind the tablet, he gives you an encouraging smile, much like the many times he’s done before the shows he was able to attend. You take a deep breath and focus on your four words, letting a lyrical story form in your mind.

What ensues is a cute little song about acting like a dork in front of a crush that has Chris laughing and applauding by the end of it. “I can’t believe you rhymed Tony Stark with trademark.”

You set aside the ukulele with a shrug and small smile and watch the barrage of hearts and emojis scroll up the screen. You force out a laugh so you don’t do something embarrassing like cry. Above it all, the view count shows that there’s a whopping eighty thousand viewers.

Chris is grinning at you and you’re feeling warm all over.

You went into this chat just wanting to spend ten to fifteen minutes updating your fans on your music and answering any questions; you didn’t expect the forty-minute hoopla it’s become. So you say with a regretful sigh, “All right, folks, I think that was the perfect way to end this.” You wish the viewers a nice, positive message then turn the tablet around so the both of you are on screen again. “Any last words, Chris?”

He beams and waves into the camera. “Next time, the melodica. I promise.”

“Yes, I promise next time you’ll see Chris play the melodica.”

The video ends with you grinning into the camera and Chris’ face caught in a laugh.

He helps you pack the instruments away, and finds you in the kitchen rinsing your cups. His arms wrap around you and he hides a kiss into the side of your neck. “You’re spectacular.”

You turn in his embrace and smile up at him. “Are you hungry?”

He kisses you and murmurs, “Starved.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have several more fics [@forevans](https://forevans.tumblr.com/post/147239232221/thecrowsnest/). If you’d like to see them on this site, let me know and I will post them here.
> 
>  **8/12/18** : I have [a discord server](https://discord.gg/8nbc6Rw), if you want in for updates, Six Sentence Sundays, prompts, etc.
> 
> * * *
> 
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